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Stalker Metamorphosis
I walked into my office with a crime investigation folder in my arms. After a long chase, we finally put that psychopath behind bars. However, despite knowing that she can get sentenced for her entire life, or put in an asylum, she didn't resist much. Or maybe not at all. She simply put everything in her hands down on the floor as we pointed guns at her. And those eyes... just staring into the abyss of nothingness. It was rather creepy. I have seen similar eyes on victims of homicide. Shock and extreme trauma cause it most of the time. It felt like... she was a completely different person from what we were expecting. She had a diary with her. I know it is rude for one to read a complete stranger's diary, however, I am really interested in what can be in it. Wackos like her usually write interesting and creepy shit, and I always loved horror as a genre in almost everything. Games, movies, books... let the genre be horror, and I always gave it a try. The chills running down my spine, before a good scare or when an eerie music began to play in the background, brought a sense of euphoria as well. Sometimes an effective jumpscare filled my mind with ecstasy as well however it always felt cheap on the long term. Guilty pleasure what I call it. Maybe I sound creepy, but tell you what, I am a genuine and cool guy. Sometimes a little bit too passive. I put down the folder on the closer end of the desk and jumped into my chair. The diary was inside my pocket, ever since the arrest so I did not need to take it away from the evidence safe. There is a smaller chance I get discovered this way. Holding back evidences can put me into every kind of trouble however curiosity got the better of me. I guess there is no turning back at this point. My fingers slip under the cover and with a steady motion towards myself, I opened it on the first page. As expected, nothing was on the first page. Why the hell did I even open on it. Turning on the next page revealed what I was looking for. The handwriting was pretty and organized. It was odd from a sort of artist as far as I know. Or maybe I am just generalizing. Entry 1: Dear Diary, I’m happy I’m starting you. Well, my psychiatrist suggested writing a diary so that I clear up my mind from all the things happened to me. I am not entirely sure though what he was referring to... He was asking questions about what was the last thing I remember before I fell into a coma. I had a really hard time answering them. Until my CT scan doesn't come back to him I am restricted of using anything electronic since it can worsen the possible damages in my brain. Better safe than sorry I guess. However, he recommended me to write a diary of some sort to clean my head from the cloud that blocks my thoughts and help me remember certain scenes. I have no idea why he wants me to do that. Did I see a wanted criminal or something that bad happened they need to catch someone? I think it is better for me to pull myself out from the case entirely. I don't want any other trouble in my life than I already have. Speaking of problems, ever since I got back to my senses I can't shake this odd feeling off of me that someone or something is watching me from behind. I also happen to catch glimpses of it on my horizon but never too close to identify it... Sound and feels pretty unnerving if you ask me knowing someone is watching me maybe going to do something to me… I just hope nothing happens and I am just imagining things. Oh well, this all that I wanted to write down for this day. Wow writing my thoughts down to you is pretty fun as well. I might develop a habit out of this. I feel so old school right now...oh well I hope I write down on you soon. From, Naomi I put the diary down on the wooden table, under the light of my desk lamp then crossing my fingers in front of my head and resting it. Thoughts rush through every synapse of my brain, piecing together the unnecessary info and the already known facts about the caught girl. No motive or possible explanation in this entry… Reaching down under the paper again, I turned the page to reveal the next entry in the strange diary Entry 2: Dear Diary, Finally, back at school. I was worried that I would fall behind my studies and fail, after working so hard for getting mom and dad’s approval to get in this college. I cannot let my hopes and dreams shatter just because of this little coma. I know they can’t make huge exceptions like letting me pass all the tests. I would not want it either. I would just pull more unnecessary attention on me. I don’t want that…. I don’t want to be noticed anymore...Please just leave me alone...Not anymore...I think I uncovered the secret that lying that certain night’s shadows... It looks like the entry ends here. The part with the dots appears to be less organized and more like scribbles. The psychology book about handwriting would say that the person who wrote this was in fear. The strokes of the pen suggest that the writer’s hand was shaking while writing. I bit down on my finger, ripping off a small fragment of my skin chewing them into softer dusty matter then swallowed it. A really bad habit of mine. I start doing this thing when I feel excited or I am bored. A few of my colleagues who I am friends with said that I should try dropping this childish habit, since they and science says that removing your skin causes bacteria to invade your body. Are they thinking that I am some kind of idiot? I am fully aware of that fact. I just can’t help it… Shaking my head, I turn a few more pages only running through the lines with my eyes. Nothing really interesting except this shadow figure that entry 7 describes. I stopped scrolling to put on under my metaphoric magnifying glass. Entry 7: The shadow person is getting more and closer with each passing day. This goddamn faceless figure. I think it resembles a huge figure. Mostly humanoid in shape however it keeps on warping and warping sometimes. And not just that but I think I began hallucinating even weirder shit. Sometimes when I turn on a corner, everyone disappears from this city. It becomes abandoned. I roam the empty streets for a while, begging to find someone with me without any luck whatsoever. When I snap back to reality I am usually at the same spot where this hallucination started. Yes, I classify them as hallucination since I see them clearly but no one else does. I never move from my original spot either. What else could it be? Exactly, nothing else, other than a hallucination. I heard about killings taking place in the city more and more frequently. Coincidentally, my hallucinations became more common and longer. What if...these two things are linked somehow… The entry ends here. The author noticeably became more frustrated than ever. Organized writing and structure were thrown out of the window at this point. Her fear emitted from her writings, like a sinister miasma choking me. Chills ran down on my spine while reading the entry. This is what I was waiting for. Excitement. From the very moment I first averted my gaze at her broken facial expression and empty emerald green eyes I knew I was in for some exciting events. My pupils filled most of my eyes, pushing out my iris to the outer rim of the inner ring and every single hair on my arms stood on their edge. I could not wait even a millisecond and turned to the final page. The entry was this: Entry 13: Dear Diary, I was really glad to start you so I could talk about this dark secret with you. Dark secret... sounds pretty cliché if you ask me. I am finally putting together the pieces of the puzzle. The meaning behind this hallucination, the Shadow Being and the genocides occurring across the city. Meaning? What the fuck am I even trying to say. There is no meaning to anything what am I doing. I don’t even know why am I hallucinating. Maybe I am just simply going nuts. These medications that the doctor gave to me have no goddamn use. I hear him telling things to me. I don’t know what, but I am certain that he is talking to me in a strange language. I can’t even think it is human language… He is getting closer to me. One night I woke up to him staring at me, just a couple inches away from my face but when I blinked, he was gone in an instant. Why am I referring to that thing as a “he”? It is something beyond human knowledge. A malevolent beast that wants nothing else just to take people away and murdering them in unspeakable ways. Or maybe this is just all in my head… Never mind... Nothing matters anymore. Whatever that thing is, imaginary or real, I am giving myself up to it. I am tired of running… Thank you, my dear Diary. You were a wonderful companion throughout this journey. I closed the small journal and put it back on my table. Averting my gaze at the case folder on the very edge of my desk, I pulled it under the yellow light of the desk lamp. The newly gained information fit right into the missing spots of the case’s jigsaw puzzle. Though the case was solved as soon as we caught the poor thing in the forest. She made a shelter there to keep herself from hurting more people. Her final acts are worthy of acknowledgment, as Naomi, however, it will not erase the fact that she killed people. I let out a long sigh then got back up from the comfortable hold of the leather chair and I left my office with the journal in the pocket of my coat. The rain was pouring from the sky so for the distance between the door of the building and my car, I opened my umbrella. If I am correct, she must be in jail still. I don’t remember the chief talking about transferring her to an asylum or prison. Starting the engine, I drove down in the dim lit road towards the district’s police station. The words from the diary formed images in my head, flashing into my mind like lightning. For some reason, I felt myself more and more agitated with each passing street light as the distance between me and the complicated serial killer lessened. Pain stung into my stomach like a tiny blade and my arms became shaky again. I have not felt like this ever since my first case. Adrenaline rushed through my veins and my heavy feet pushed down on the gas pedal ever so slightly. The engine roared up and the mechanical beast that I was sitting in almost muting the popping sound that the rain gave as each drop landed on the windshield. The adrenaline rush got the better of me until another traffic light put me to a halt by changing to red. It was strange that only the final light gave me a red signal. All other were green or just changed to green like some strange coincidence. And only the final one stopped me, for the better. I would have been sent to the afterlife by the coming truck with a frontal collision, most likely sending my body flying across the windshield or the breaking glass piercing through my skull. As the light switched to green I took the final turn to the police station. It was technically closed by this time of the day, however, there were always a few officers who were on night shift to look out for the ones locked up and to answer possible calls. Rushing inside the station from the rain, the officers looked at me dumbfounded. I asked where I could find the girl that we took in a couple of hours ago. They looked at each other, dumbfounded by my request, then one sighed and took me to the cells in the room that opened from the very back of the building. I told him that I would want some alone time with her, to that he widened his gaze then shrugged, leaving the room. I ventured forward to the only cell that held someone captive. There she was, sitting by the wall, looking downwards at the floor, or at her feet. Her hair, a brown and semi-short mess. The body was still covered in dirt and her clothes were tattered and torn. When she heard my steps getting louder she raised her head up from between her knees and looked into my eyes. The same soulless eyes I have seen when we caught her. Her huge pupils, trying to focus onto mine, as her emerald iris was only visible on the very outer rim of the central ring. It was like she was in some sort of trance. Sighing, I pulled the journal out from my pocket and giving it a push, I slid it to her. To this it looked like, life went back into her. Reaching out to it with shaky hands, she lifted it up and held it close to her chest. A gentle smile curved onto my face then took a few steps backward. “So you have read it. But why?” she asked, in an extremely low tone. It was like she was whispering. My answer was presented to her with a sigh. “No particular reason. I thought that a psycho’s diary would hold many horrors, waiting to be uncovered. And it looks like I was right.” She responded with an “Oh,” then looked back down on the floor. “But why did you bring the diary back to me? It makes no sense…” she said. And that struck me. I had no answer to this question. Possible answers raced through my mind like cars, however, neither of them would have done any good. I was wondering if I would be able to chat with the other one inside her. The so-called Shadow Person, however, it was a fact that bringing her out would only do harm to her. I already broke a few unwritten regulations of mine with bringing the diary back to her. It was time for me to leave, so I left her with the question, hanging unanswered. On the way back home, in my rear-view mirror, I noticed something. I adjusted it a little bit to gain a better sight on it. Something that I should not be able to see. It looked like a hole anomaly in space, warping and changing into... into a humanoid shape. Category:Diary/Journal Category:Beings Category:Mental Illness